


melon

by Anonymous



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: M/M, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 05:57:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21369286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: talon takes a shot at deathstroke. it's his own unique brand of flirting.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson, Earth-3 Richard Grayson | Talon/Slade Wilson
Kudos: 50
Collections: Anonymous





	melon

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by francis xie's chibi art of talon cracking open slade's skull. it's cute.

Slade’s scouting out his next kill when he hears it. The faintest of footfalls, the barest whisper of a breath – a well-trained ninja, by the sound of it.

To no one’s surprise, it’s exactly what he finds when he whirls around, sword in hand, and fingers twitching against his holster. But what he doesn’t account for is the stiff wearing the suit: none other than _the_ Dick Grayson, standing no more than five paces away from him on the narrow rooftop he’s chosen to perch on.

At least he wasn’t wrong about the ninja part. Except that wasn’t very Grayson at all.

Last he saw the kid, he was pretty sure that this wasn’t his usual get-up: glossy black plated armor tipped with gold, and armed to the teeth with knives. Four blades on the bandolier strapped across his chest, two on his back and another two on either hip, and a dozen more that was no doubt hidden in his gauntlets and boots.

The weirdest part? He looked like an emancipated zombie.

Slade decides to test the waters.

“Okay, what gives.”

He doesn’t get an answer. The fake-not-exactly-fake doppelgänger steps forward; a soft, catlike slide that takes him into a semicircle path around the mercenary.

“Grayson. The hell is this.”

No reason for him to attack, but he’s not going to take his chances. His grip on the pommel of his sword remains firm. Ninja Grayson remains silent, but Slade recognizes the cool, calculated stare of a killer when he sees it.

He’s studying him, mapping his features and taking note of every minute bodily reaction. Slade continues to follow ninja Grayson across the rooftop with his eye. Grayson’s body however, betrays nothing of any malicious ilk.

“You gonna talk or you just gonna stand there.”

Slade has a gut feeling it’s the latter. But he decides to wait this one out. Already his mind is whirling with alarm – just how the hell did this guy find him?

A whistling by his ear. Knife. Grayson’s thrown one of his knives. Slade misses the next one by a hair, and then he retaliates, raises his sword to block the next projectile.

“What’s your deal, kid. We’re not in ‘Haven, so why the hostility?”

Still no answer. Or, his answer is another volley of knives, and Grayson jumping him immediately afterwards. Slade decides not to waste bullets on this one.

This version of Grayson’s just as fast and flexible as the original one, and Slade could not be more thrilled at the prospect of another run-in with the kid. He comes at him with another blade. Slade anticipates it, steps forward to intercept his throwing arm. Except again, Grayson catches his hand and leverages himself into a kick.

He moves with the same fluidity. Slade’s a little impressed. But he’s more impressed with that little momentary close-up.

By all means, this Grayson appeared to be sick, normal tan washed out and dark hair an even messier mop. What bothered him the most though, was his skin – skin that was chalk white and so paper-thin he could see the green and blue crisscrossing of veins underneath. It’s a little unnerving. Even his eyes seem to be glazed over, the whites watery and pupils blown wide.

His face is gaunt with dark shadows, hollow points on his cheeks and under his eyes. What the hell happened to you, Slade thinks, as they continue their little macabre dance under the moonlight. Dodge, duck, sidestep. Stab, block, stab. Rinse and repeat.

But at some point, someone or something _has_ to give.

Slade doesn’t count himself as old. So it must be a trick of the light, fake Grayson’s sleight of hand and the subsequent squelch of blood in his chest, because Slade’s got 20/20 vision and despite the one good eye, he’s still sharp as a tack.

How did –

“_Talon_.” The voice, volume just shy of a hoarse whisper, rasps into his ear.

What –

“_Talon_,” the boy repeats. And then he’s pulling away, knife dripping with blood, and there’s a childish smile on his face, a slight tilt to his head as he regards the old man sinking to the floor before him.

Okay, Talon it is.

Slade feels his head spin. His regenerative powers should be kicking in, should be fighting off whatever it is Talon’s managed to stab him with, but the poison in his veins freezes his blood. Slade’s considering gutting this guy like fish when ‘Talon’ kneels down to meet him eye-level, sickle blade in hand.

“Deathstroke will see.”

Slade’s able to keep his eyes open long enough to feel ‘Talon’ lean over him in a bend, securing him with an arm around his neck and legs pinned to the sides while he takes a crack at his head. Literally. At first there’s the dull, echoing thwack against his cranium, and then a sharp splitting pain that goes down the back of his head.

Talon’s cracking his skull open like a melon. Slade struggles to keep his wits about him; there’s a hole in his chest that’s slowly staining the front of his uniform a dark color, and every wet gurgle of breath makes his wound gush red. There’s a chill in his bones, a numbing sensation that turns his veins into ice. Slade’s not so sure he wants to see how this night ends, with his brains splattered all over this rooftop and Talon knifing away at his scalp. But he’s blacking out, eyes closing and losing all consciousness with every second and with every twist of that damned blade. The last thing he hears is that raspy voice whispering another cryptic message into his ear.

“Deathstroke, _Talon_. Understand?”

**Author's Note:**

> if you're wise, don't leave a kudos. i don't like those.


End file.
